10 If It Looks Like a Duck
by Thescarredman
Summary: Anna and Sarah show their best and worst sides to the people they love.
1. Promises

Phoenix  
March 25 2006

It was after store hours at the mall, but the complex housed a Cineplex that kept the concourse open past midnight on weekends. Lynch window-shopped the closed storefronts while he tried to spot Anna in the crowd. He wore a wool pea coat to cover his shoulder holster. The ear bud of the com unit was hard to see anyway, but he'd put on a stocking cap and pulled it down over his ears. He leaned against a display window and brought the tiny microphone to his lips. "Are you here?"

[Yes. You look comically suspicious like that. How many merchant sailors do you see in Arizona?]

"Where are you?"

[Very near. Keep your hand down. Wander around in the food court; let me see if you've got a tail.]

He moved towards the food court outside the theaters; many of the vendors were still open, and a crowd nearly filled the tables. He tried to spot a tail, and her, while appearing to be wandering aimlessly, looking at nothing in particular.

He glanced at one of the tables and nearly broke his stride. A girl was sitting in a chair backed well away from her table, her face hidden as she bent over, fiddling with the strap on her thick-soled, high-heeled shoe; her straight black hair almost touched the floor. Her arms were bare and the color of coffee with extra cream. _What the hell is Sarah doing here?_ Then she straightened and pulled her hair back, and he saw he was mistaken. The coloration was the same, as were the broad facial features common to many Native American tribes. But this girl had a slightly different nose; her eyes were less slanted, and different from Sarah's color: an unusual reddish brown that made him think of banked fires. She was wearing a tight little red dress with a slit up the side that exposed the entire length of her legs to her hips, and gave him a glimpse of something brief and black underneath; its neckline plunged almost to her navel, showcasing small but beautifully-formed breasts. Surrounded by working-class moviegoers, she looked as eye-catching and out of place as a Christmas ornament in an egg carton. _Seems like an odd place to meet a john._

She glanced up at him and gave him the sort of brief smile one gives a stranger. When he didn't respond, her eyes slid off him and she dug a brush out of her purse and began running it through her hair, tossing her head around and drawing the eye of every male in the room. _Pays to advertise._ She was a sexy little package, but she wasn't one of his girls. He looked elsewhere.

He spotted a kid in skater attire idling among the tables. A ball cap perched sideways on his head, from which a few strands of light blond hair escaped. He wore sunglasses indoors hours after sunset, and full-finger leather gloves that would hide half-inch nails. The loose bulky clothing would conceal a slender girl's figure. The boy was alone, unusual for a teenager; he didn't seek out any of the kids at the tables either. Lynch marked him as a possible and moved on.

[You have a tail. Don't respond, just keep playing tourist. Let's see if there's another.]

He wandered along the row of food vendors. A thought struck him, and he doubled back to the start of the row, as if he were having trouble making up his mind.

One of the food shops had a large grill built against the back wall. The kid at the grilling station never turned, but was clearly a young girl. The hair in the opening at the back of her uniform cap was light blonde. _Does she have some kind of resolution software that makes a clear image out of the blurry reflection of the stainless-steel wall?_

He looked up the two-story wall of the concourse, to a very short row of mirrored glass panels that he was sure were second-story office windows overlooking the food court. _She wouldn't have to be down here at all._

[Spotted another; I think that's it. Looks like you've been moving too fast for them to set up a proper net. Grab a bite and sit down for a few minutes. You look tired, love.]

He picked up a coffee and stale Danish from the kiosk near the center of the court, and sat at a nearby table. The salesgirl had averted her eyes as she'd served him. _The scars; even with an eye patch, they still make me a walking freak show. It's a wonder I can move anywhere unremarked. I should have done something about them years ago. _Then he remembered Anna stroking them, tracing the deep furrows with fingertips so small they slipped inside to the bottom, reaching scar tissue he couldn't touch with his own hands. It had made him shiver.

[Are you okay? Blow on your coffee if everything's okay.]

He lifted the mug to his lips, blew, and took a sip. The mic was between the knuckles of his first two fingers. "What's happening?" His lips barely moved.

[I'm about to put away your two tails. I hope they're not friends.]

"Doubtful. Too much new blood at the Shop. My friends are all too senior for this crap."

[One down… Just have to get them out of sight long enough for us to clear the lot.]

"I should have been taking you along on trips. There were lots of times you'd have come in handy."

[And who would have mopped the floors and kept the kids from running with scissors? Two down. Finish your snack, and head for the south exit. I may not be there yet, so wait.]

He forced himself to finish the coffee, but left the pastry. When he stepped through the glass doors covering the south exit and onto the sidewalk, he saw a black van sat idling at the curb. There was no one behind the wheel. He stayed away from it, leery of the big side door, behind which a half dozen men might be waiting.

He heard the mall door behind him slam open. He turned, reaching under his coat. It was the skater kid, with something in his hand. The van door slid aside, revealing several other teens similarly dressed. Running, the skater kid jumped into the van and the others laughed as the door slid shut and one of them took the wheel and drove away quickly. _Shoplifter or purse snatcher, is all._

Immediately, a small red convertible pulled up, its top open to the night air. It was the girl in the red dress. She smiled. "Hey, sailor," she said in Anna's voice. "Looking for a date?"

"Holy shit."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. He walked around and got in. As the car pulled away from the curb, he looked her up and down. "This isn't the kind of 'girl stuff' I was expecting."

"Just a disguise. Sarah picked out the dress. I accessorized it, with some recommendations from my shopgirl friend." She turned to him, smiling. "You like?"

"It's different. And very sexy. But it breaks every rule of fieldcraft. Every man in the place was staring at you."

"All but three. They were disciplined men, looking for someone else, someone more unobtrusive, and didn't give me a second look. Made your tails easy to spot."

He remembered how she'd sat with her back to the wall, turning her head this way and that as she brushed her hair. _A perfect way to check all around the room without looking suspicious. _"Huh. Well, I'm looking _now_. This isn't permanent, is it?"

"It could be," she said slowly, "if you want. The hair's a wig, of course, but it's attached very securely. You'd have to work at it to dislodge it."

"Uh, let me think on that. Playing dress up can be a fun change, but I'm used to you the other way."

"I'm sure you could get used to this, if you had to." The breeze mostly passed over the windshield without entering the car. She'd tied her hair back with a scarf that matched the dress, and the cool wind hardly moved it at all. The red-brown eyes gazed at him with an open expression. "I wouldn't mind. No matter how I look, I'm still me."

_Change the subject._ "Where are we headed?"

"Prescott, mostly by two-lane roads. Then north to Ash Fork, where we pick up old US Sixty-six for a long loop north. The trip will take an extra day, but between the military bases, the wildlife refuges, the national parks, and the mountains, there aren't many routes home that avoid the interstate system. I took a more direct route skirting the Mexican border to get here on time, but I don't think we should take the same way back. I hope you're not in a hurry to get home." She glanced at him. "What is it?"

He chuckled softly. "I'm headed down Route Sixty-six with a beautiful girl in a red convertible. No, I don't mind an extra day. I'm living the dream." His fingers reached under her hair to touch the back of her neck. "Find a hotel around Ash Fork, before we head over the mountains."

She smiled without taking her eyes off the road. They turned onto a divided four-lane headed northwest. "What have you got in mind?"

"Spending our first night together." He felt a rising excitement as he smiled at her. "And penetrating your disguise."

-0-

"Easier than I thought." He gently ran a hand along her bare upper arm as she snuggled tight against him in the hotel bed. The dress and undergarments lay on a chair nearby.

"I wasn't exactly resisting."

His hand left her arm and rested on her hip. "Penetrating your disguise, I mean." His fingers curled around the projection in the front of her hip. _Maybe it really is her pelvis, just not bone._ "This is an unusual color combination. Usually it's the other way around."

"I wasn't about to dye anything. I wasn't sure it would come out, for one thing. Besides, this disguise was never intended to pass close examination, just hide my identity in public and draw some attention." She tucked long strands of raven hair behind her ear and looked up at him. "So, how did it feel, this 'playing dress up'?"

"Fun, once we got rolling. Uncomfortable at first. It felt like cheating on my wife."

"Your wife has been dead for years, Jack. Surely-"

"I'm talking about the second one." He cupped her buttocks in his hand and snugged her up against his thigh. "The little blonde I married Wednesday night." He smiled down into her wide-open eyes. "You want a ceremony?"

She threw a leg across him. "Already had one."

"A ring, then. I'll buy you a rock you can see from orbit, if you want it."

"I have my rock right here. A foundation stone." Her hand slid down his belly, and a little farther. "I'm good on wedding presents, too." She snugged her head into his neck. "I love you, Jack."

"Huh." The hand that had been stroking her hip stilled. "I, uh, I told my wife I loved her all the time. It didn't stop me from being a selfish bastard, and it didn't stop her from leaving me. But, you know, I-"

Her fingers pressed firmly against his lips. "Stop. Keep your superstition. I don't need you to speak the Word."

"I should."

"Have you forgotten who you're talking to, who you're lying with?" She touched his face. "Pupil dilation and eye movement. Voice stress patterns. Skin temperature and conductivity. Capillary action." Her hand slid down his chest. "Heart and pulse rate. Breathing and blood pressure. Involuntary muscle twitches, body language. Chemical emissions." Her hand moved in a slow circle in the center of his chest. "I can even use my body language to convey subliminal messages, to query your systems and get a response."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you and I have conversations all the time, that you're not even aware of." Delicately, her fingers traced the scars over his forehead. "And you tell me you love me whenever you're near me."

An hour later, she whispered, "How are you doing this to me?"

He'd been about to doze off; he opened his eyes. "I think the 'doing' is kind of reciprocal."

She was curled up against his hip with her head on his stomach. She stroked the inside of his thigh, and he felt himself stirring again. "You know what I mean. I didn't think this was possible before we did it. How are you doing it? How are you getting _me _to do it? What couldn't you tell me before? Surely I've had enough experience to understand an explanation now."

He huffed softly, a one-breath laugh. "Huh. You think I've got a secret to tell you?"

"Course I do. Don't you think I'm ready yet?" She swung a leg over and lay full length on him, the top of her head tucked under his chin. "Do I need more practice?"

He worked his hand under the thick hair to the back of her neck. "We're not practicing. This is what it is. And I don't understand it any better than you do. No one does."

"How can that be? It's hardwired into you. You _must_ understand it." The hands that had been caressing his shoulders stilled. "Could you talk about it with me if I was a real girl? But then, I don't suppose you'd have to."

He put his arms around her and pulled her up until they were eye to eye. "It wouldn't make any difference. You called lovemaking a Mystery, remember? It's a mystery to everyone. What's the name of your favorite music album?"

"Until Bobby records a CD? Sara Maclaclan, _Fumbling Toward Ecstasy_… oh."

He rubbed the back of her neck. "'Real girl,' huh? I thought we settled that."

"I was just fishing." She slid out of bed.

He caught her wrist. "Where are you going?"

"To get you a glass of water. You're dehydrated."

"Stay here. I don't want it. I want you."

She looked down at his hand on her wrist. "You know, you've been manhandling me a lot lately. Do you get like this with every woman you have sex with?"

"No." He loosened his grip. But she clasped his fingers around her wrist again with the other hand.

"Good. That makes me feel special. I like being handled by this man. Very much." She lowered her lashes. "You know you can't hurt me, and I know you'd never want to. I'm not some fragile little girl. You can be as rough with me as you like."

"Anna… are you turning kinky on me?"

Very carefully, she said, "Define 'kinky.'"

Another hour later, he said, "It's a two-way street, you know." He touched his fingertips to his ruined face. "You don't have to put up with this. There are surgeons who can make all this disappear, even put in an eye to match the right one."

"Why would I want both sides of your face the same? I think your face is a perfect reflection of your dual nature." She covered the scarred side with her right hand. "The adventurer, the poet, the scholar. The lover of fine things, who made _me_ a fine thing worthy of love. The sensualist who woke passions in me I didn't know existed."

She removed her hand and placed her left over the unscarred half, splitting her fingers to leave his eye uncovered. "The fearsome warrior. The battle hardened leader of men who knows the price of victory and is prepared to pay it, the man of iron will and unyielding purpose who won't be denied. With this man at my side, I could almost pity my enemies." She cradled his face in her hands. "One of them holds my very heart, my source; the other shaped my soul. How could I bear to lose either of them?"

Another hour went by. They wrestled, laughing, tangling their legs in the twisted sheets. She giggled as he grabbed her arms, pinning them above her head as he straddled her. Her legs kicked at him ineffectually. It was a total sham; they both knew she could have thrown him through the wall into the next room. But it didn't matter. He was laughing too.

He brought his head down, as if to take a kiss. She grinned and whipped her head to the side, exposing his real target. His lips found the side of her neck where it joined her shoulder, and she melted as he nuzzled her.

"Mmmm." Her eyes closed softly, then opened again as he drew back. "What's wrong?"

"The pads in your nose and cheeks. How much trouble to take them out?"

"None." He watched her nose and cheekbones narrow until her regular features lay clear under the dark complexion.

"You never told me you could do that."

"I didn't know, until I started thinking about disguising myself."

"Huh. What about the contacts?" _Shouldn't_ _have let her wear them to bed; it's bad for the eyes._

_Flick._ Her eyes were their regular grayish blue.

"Jesus. How?"

"Liquid crystal, I think. I have a default setting, like my voice, but I can change any time. Watch this. Guess who?" The gray in her eyes faded as the blue tint lightened.

"Bobby."

The blue acquired a rosy tinge, became a deep violet.

"Roxanne. Of course."

They brightened to an almost luminous green.

"Caitlin."

Suddenly as a light going out, they turned brown, so dark the pupils almost disappeared.

"Sarah."

They lightened slightly, to the color of milk chocolate.

"Eddie?"

Their color warmed as if they'd caught fire, regaining their reddish tinge.

"Very sexy."

"I think so too."

"But nobody I know."

She smiled up at him. "Man, do you never look in a mirror?"

Some time later, he woke to soft light leaking in from around the curtains. She still lay beside him, her chin propped on her forearm, looking straight into his eyes. "Good morning. You know how unusual your sleep patterns are?"

"Yes. Ever since I manifested."

"An hour enough sleep, or shall we wait to hit the road?"

"An hour? What time is it?"

"Six-eleven."

"Get me to the shower. We'll be on the road by six-thirty." _Did we really do it four times last night? When it dropped in the pot at the tower, I'd got four hours' sleep out of forty-eight. From the tower to this hotel room, none out of thirty. I should have hit this bed like a felled tree. Instead, I spent all night trying to satisfy a woman who's literally inexhaustible. I may fall asleep in the shower. And if she follows me in there, we'll do it again before we leave._ He felt her fingers playing with the hair on his belly._ Lord, I'm almost sixty; if I'm going to live through this marriage, I'd better throttle back._ He put a finger under her chin. "You could use one too. Want to scrub my back?" _Tomorrow._

-0-

He watched her pull up to the front entrance while he was checking out. The top was up, but he could see her through the windshield well enough to see she was still wearing the wig. She looked over the tops of her sunglasses as he came out the hotel doors, and pushed open the passenger door for him. He dropped in, took one look at her and said, "What the hell are you wearing?"

She looked down at the short pleated skirt and middy top as if noticing them for the first time. "This? Roxanne picked it out for me. I'm sure it suits her better, but I wanted to wear it at least once before I give it to her."

"It makes you look sixteen years old. Actually, it makes you look like a naughty schoolgirl. I'm glad you weren't wearing it when we checked in. Now I _really _feel like a cradle robber."

"Ha. Want me to drop the top? On the car, I mean."

"Very much. Might keep me awake."

"Sleep. You know you'll wake if you need to." The car rolled out of the drive and took to the highway as the ragtop folded back, flooding the passenger compartment with early morning sunshine. The car cast a long shadow on the road ahead. "If you go offline now, maybe you'll be awake when the road starts winding through the mountains."

-0-

A blast from an air horn almost in his ear nearly shot him out of his seat. They were passing a semi; the driver looked down and grinned, giving him a thumbs-up, and then making a fanning motion as they rolled past. Anna tugged her skirt back down one-handed. "Drat. The wind catches this just right sometimes, and blows it all the way up to my hips. Maybe I should have worn something else. Or at least packed some more modest underwear. But I was thinking of you at the time."

The sun was high overhead. He checked his watch. "It's _noon_? Where are we?"

"On a short stretch of I-10 that crosses the Colorado. We're in California. From here, we swing south through Imperial Valley and one last mountain pass, then take the descent to Escondido. Maybe two and a half hours." She looked at him. "Jack, you seem tireder than when you went to sleep. Are you okay?"

He rubbed grit from his eyes. "Yeah. I've been through this before. I haven't had a night's worth of Zs in a week. Go without long enough, your body almost forgets sleep. Six hours just reminded it what it's been missing."

"You could have got more last night." She smiled at the windshield.

"I got more than I bargained for, just not sleep. No small job, trying to keep up with a nuclear-powered nymphomaniac."

"That's not correct." She swung off the interstate onto a two-lane road headed south. "A woman who's a nymphomaniac is addicted to sex. It's you I can't get enough of." She reached for his hand. "Should I put you to bed with a glass of warm milk tonight? Let you catch up some?" She gave it a quick squeeze. "You poor thing! You haven't had a bite since we met up, except for that pastry in the mall. Do you want to stop? I need to change anyway."

"Why bother? We're almost home."

"That's why I need to change."

He shook his head. "I've created a monster. Are you really the same girl who had six identical outfits in her closet?"

"Yes. And I once wore the same outfit for six years without taking it off. Your point?"

"Why put on another outfit to come home in?"

"I have a promise to keep."

-0-

Sarah sat cross-legged on the floor of the conversation area of the great room, reading with her back propped against the end of one of the couches. Although the outside temperature was in the seventies, she had a blaze going in the gas fireplace. Not only did the fire provide her with some badly-needed spiritual comfort; the heat gave the others an excuse to leave her alone, and gave her a reason for her isolation that she could accept.

That didn't mean she was enjoying the solitude. She was a private person, and often felt more comfortable alone than in company. But being shunned by her friends grated. _Okay. Maybe I went a little overboard about the photographs. But it was just the last straw. That little facsimile human has been treating me like a threat to be dealt with since I first moved in. She's made me look like an ingrate and an intransigent bitch in front of the others. Now she's got her claws in the master of the house: the final authority, the last male around here I could count on to be halfway impartial in a dispute between us. How can I ever get a fair hearing now? She's bribing the judge. She's bribing them all, with cookies and clean laundry and sunny smiles. And behind it all, a purpose as cold as any other machine's._

The couch moved slightly as someone dropped into it. A lock of copper hair fell over the arm of the sofa onto her shoulder. She didn't move it. She acted as if she didn't notice her visitor, as if they were just two individuals sharing space. She heard a page turn. The two of them turned pages, reading, or, in her case, pretending to, letting the silence stretch.

"You're wrong about her, you know."

She took a deep breath. "No, I'm not. Her skill at acting human doesn't refute my position, Caitlin. It reinforces it." She put down her book. "If she'd whir and clank a little, the act would be easier to tolerate. But she's too good. Don't you see? She was _built _to imitate us perfectly, programmed for it. It's not free will. She's just following orders. We don't really mean anything to her; she could just as easily have been programmed to hate us all, and she'd do it just as skillfully. You're the computer whiz. You know what I'm talking about."

"Yes," Caitlin said slowly, "I _am_ the computer whiz. And if she can convince _me_ she's more than a machine, why can't she convince you? And why is this coming to a head now, after sharing a roof with her for two years?"

She couldn't come up with a good answer. It just seemed to her that a crisis was brewing, and they couldn't afford to pretend with Anna any longer. "Caitlin. What's the weak spot in her mimicry program? What's the part of being human she can't seem to get right?"

"Sarah, I don't even think of it as programming anymore. At least, not the way you mean it."

"Resentment. Irritation. Just plain bitchiness. She never gets in a mood she has to apologize for later. If something blocks her path or doesn't go her way, she just backs up, assigns new values to the variables, runs the equations again, and changes tack. Sometimes you can see it, almost see her shifting gears."

"Sarah-"

"In the mall. Don't tell me her reactions were normal. You've been in tight spots with Lynch. Did he act like that? As if he was playing a marvelous game?"

"What-"

"It ties in. I don't know how, but it does." Her thoughts tumbled along, taking her mouth with them. "That bedroom. Yes, she put a lot of thought and effort into it. I had no _idea_ she'd learned so much about me, and it scares me. Why did she do it, Caitlin? Not because she likes me. It was an attempt to buy my loyalty, or at least my silence. She doesn't want me reminding the rest of you that she's different. She-"

"No." Caitlin didn't shout, but her voice filled the big room nonetheless. "She doesn't need to silence you, Sarah. Don't you see? You can talk all you want about her. We're not listening." Caitlin swung her legs off the couch. "We've already made up our minds. Her tears are real. Her smiles are real. We _want _her to be real, Sarah." She rose to leave. "I don't forget what she is. But I think I see her more clearly than you."

"Hey, dude and dudettes!" Eddie stood at the open back door, shouting down the hall. "L-Man's coming in the gate."

Caitlin gave her a glance. "Anna too?"

"He's with a girl, but it's not Anna. Sarah's got sisters, right?"

Sudden fear gripped her. _Rachel? Elisabeth? What would they be doing here? Is Mother all right? Grandmother?_ She rushed down the hallway, matching Caitlin stride for stride in her hurry.

Bobby came down the back stairs three at a time to join them as they reached the door. The three of them spilled through the doorway, past Eddie and Roxanne, in time to see a red two-seater convertible pull into one of the empty garage bays. She got a glimpse of straight black hair cascading over the back of the driver's seat, bound by a red scarf. She almost shook with relief. _Wrong color; not them._

Lynch got out of the passenger side and walked around to the driver's door. He opened it and extended a hand. The woman took it and swung her deeply tanned legs out, one at a time.

"Gawd. She's…." Roxanne stood blinking at her shoulder, unable to finish. Bobby whistled softly. Eddie snapped his fingers and made a sound low in his throat.

The woman was wearing a red dress so short, her black lace panties were an utter necessity that forced a double-take as she planted her thick-soled sandals on the concrete. She flowed upward from the seat and stood gracefully, her hand still in Lynch's, feather-light. She handed her key to him, as one accustomed to small services from men, and stood with one hand on her hip as he opened the trunk and pulled out a trio of bags. She smiled at him in thanks as he closed the trunk, then turned towards the house, leading the way as if she owned the place. Her hips rolled enticingly as she walked, and the slits up the sides of her dress opened at every step, exposing her to the hips without showing the strings of her black panties. Her nipples bobbed under the shimmering fabric as each foot touched the concrete. She smiled invitingly at each of the gawking boys in turn.

"Oh my God. He's brought home a prostitute." A whirl of emotions went through her: surprise at Lynch's shocking breach of security and manners; a touch of unease as she noted that the woman was clearly a Native American; a certain dark satisfaction that he had tired of his mechanical toy so soon. "What will his little-"

Then she recognized the dress.

Roxanne finally found her voice and finished her statement. "She's _you._"

"Hi, guys," the woman said in Anna's voice as she glided up. "We're home." She smiled faintly at Sarah and tucked her hair behind her ear with her middle two fingertips, an almost absent gesture that Sarah recognized from the mirror. The clunky shoes made the two of them the same height, letting Anna's eyes, now brown, meet hers levelly. The eyes were also hooded and totally lacking humor. "Darling, you were _so_ right. In this outfit, I had the eye and the crotch of every man I saw. If I'd been what I looked like, I could have made a _fortune _last night. Of course, as soon as you held it up in the store, I knew it was just like the walk I learned from you. The dress works _so_ much better when _you're _wearing it." Sarah couldn't find a word of reply as Anna sashayed past her into the house, leaving them all staring after.

"It appears to me," Caitlin said quietly behind her, "she's learned to express resentment, Sarah. Wouldn't you agree?"


	2. Decisions

"I don't believe you. Home thirty minutes, and you're doing _laundry_?" Caitlin and Anna were the upper basement, the first floor below ground. Kat had come downstairs to do some exploring and been drawn to the sound of the washer in the laundry room.

"I had a wonderful vacation from housework," the little cyber said as she snapped a sheet. Her appearance was back to normal; she'd even removed the skin dye. "And I can see you guys kept it neat while I was away. But there's still some catching up to do." She smiled as Caitlin took the other end and found the corners. They stepped together, touched hands, and the big redhead let go. "Thanks. Speed and strength don't bring these any closer."

"Uh huh. The kitchen cabinets either. I noticed they're mounted a little low."

"Hey, I'm a shrimp. It's my kitchen. Why should I need a stool to reach the top shelf?" She set the folded sheet aside and reached for another from the wheeled basket.

"No argument." They repeated their dance with several more sheets. "When you came home, you really set her back on her heels. You had her slut mode down _perfectly. _And I've never seen you so…"

"Sexy? Provocative? Beautiful?"

"Not what I'm looking for."

"Cast-iron bitchy?"

"_Yes_. Her face was scarlet. I don't think she'll ever try something like that again." She added, "I think you're right about the other thing too. She _sprinted_ down the hall when Eddie said her sister was here."

"Hm. That's why her heart was hammering when she cleared the door. Didn't mean to do that. Putting her on notice I'm not a punching bag anymore is one thing. I didn't want to scare her, or crush her hopes." They started folding shirts on the table between them.

Kat looked across the table. "You'd be done with this if I wasn't here. Wouldn't you?"

"If I'm going to share time with you, I've got to do it at your speed. I don't mind in the least." She snapped a shirt. "Feel free to leave the undies to me. Especially the boys'."

"Eek. If Eddie found out I'd handled his boxers, I'd never hear the end of it." She lowered her voice. "You're so deep into our lives now."

"I'm not a snoop, hon. I don't intrude in your lives without good reason."

"I know. Bugging me probably saved my life, that time I was being hunted after the crash. What other little invasions of our privacy have you committed for our own good?"

Anna set down the shirt she'd been folding. "What are you asking me?"

"I know you've been helping Mr. Lynch locate our parents, or at least find out if they're alive. Did your research include taking DNA samples of us?"

"Honey girl, do you have questions about your father?"

"Not mine. Sarah's." She lowered her voice further. "Before we manifested, she told me her dad never left the reservation for more than a couple of weeks at a time. And he doesn't sound like the commando type anyway."

"Caitlin, what are you getting at?"

"He _can't _be her real father, Anna. Who is?"

On the building's top floor, Sarah stood silently at the laundry chute, one hand on its open door, the other clutching an armload of clothing to her chest, listening to the faint voices reaching her from two floors below.

The little housekeeper looked across the table. "Is it really any of your business, Kat?"

"I'm the team leader. I need to be sure of her loyalties."

"If _she_ doesn't know, how can it be an issue?"

"Because someday it'll occur to her. She'll learn the truth, either from you or some other way. Then she'll know something vitally important about herself that I don't, something that might change the way she looks at _us_."

"_Caitlin Fairchild_. As if she'd ever betray any of you."

"What about you, Anna?" The big girl leaned across the table hard enough to make it creak. "Can you turn your back on her?"

"Don't." The little android looked stricken. "Don't choose between us. It's not necessary."

"Who's her father, Anna? Does she have any Gen sisters or brothers?"

"I can't tell you. Not without telling her too. She's not ready to hear something like that from me. She wouldn't believe me. She'd think I was trying to hurt her."

"You can't expect that to change."

"I know." Anna resumed folding laundry. "I love her. I'm not fooling myself, thinking it might ever be returned. I know what she thinks my love is worth. It doesn't change anything. But it puts me in a situation. She ought to know about her family. But I can't be the one to tell her. But I'm the only one who _can_ tell her. It's enough to make smoke shoot out your ears." She sorted and folded the last pair of socks. "In a blatant attempt to change the subject, how about that tour I promised you?"

The underground floors were as Anna had said: mostly empty space with few surprises. But what surprises there were, were big ones. "Anna. I've never seen so many guns in one place in my life. This is an _arsenal_." The girl moved down the aisle between the rows of racked weapons without touching anything, as if surrounded by caged predators. "Do you know how to use all these?"

"They're Jack's, actually, but I think so. With a little practice, anyway." The little android touched the barrel of a wicked-looking heavy rifle. "Barrett M82. I'm sure I know how to use this one, but I don't know why. We had a smaller room like this at the beach house. The door was a hidden panel in Jack's office."

"This one's not hidden at all."

"You're not kids anymore. You don't need that kind of protection. You should let Jack teach you to shoot, all of you."

"Why not you?" Caitlin looked down at her. "You're good enough, for sure."

"I can't teach you to do it the way I do. You don't have my inputs, and can't duplicate my subroutines. But Jack's a very good shot." She turned to leave. "Really, Jack's second-in-command should know everything he does, but he's still awfully protective of you."

"Anna, I'm not really second-in-command. You are."

"That's not correct. I'm not in the chain of command at all. Sarah's right about that. I'm a useful resource. I know you value me and respect my opinions. But I'm a machine, and you're bios. Final decisions about your lives and purpose have to rest with you. I simply don't have the same things at stake."

The next stop in their tour brought them to the floor's only hidden panel. Anna showed how to release a catch behind a heavy rack of tools, which allowed it to swing out like a door. Behind it lay a low, narrow opening. "Kat, you know that weedy lot at the opposite end of the block, the one with nothing on it but an old two-bay garage? The other end of this tunnel comes out there, and there are cars waiting inside. Our last bolt hole."

They descended the stairs to the bottom floor. "_This_ is creepy. Anna, what is all this stuff?"

"Proscribed technology that Jack stole from IO the same time he stole me. He's never used most of it, and I don't know what most of it does." She pulled an external hard drive from a rack, one of several. "These, on the other hand… In Jack's office, there's a duplicate of the computer in your room. These are computer programs. One of these helps him make foolproof IDs. Another is a decryption program that'll peel away almost any organization's computer security but IO's. Another can make advanced electronics have seizures and die. And some of this, I think, he stole just to keep it out of Ivana's hands. He's got more, hidden in other places. I just leave it alone and hope we never need to use it, cuz I think we're looking at some nasty stuff. There's nothing else down here, hon. I just thought you should see it."

They returned to the laundry room, and immediately noticed a pile of dirty clothes on the floor under the chute. Anna gathered them up. "Sarah's," she said in a flat voice as she loaded them into the washer. "A robot's work is never done."

Caitlin huffed. "I suppose not. I can imagine you doing this for our grandkids."

"Hardly seems likely." Anna added liquid detergent to the load and shut the door.

"Why, you don't think I'll have kids?"

"Oh, I'm fairly sure you'll have kids. I just don't know if I'll be around to see them."

"Oh, come on. You're a machine. You'll last forever."

"_Really._" Anna replaced the detergent bottle on the shelf and turned to her companion. "Who ever heard of a machine that lasts forever?" She tapped her finger on the lid of the humming washer. "This has a life expectancy of ten years. The manufacturer bases that guess on knowledge it's gained from making millions of them over decades. It even has a good idea which parts are likely to fail, and when. That's how they can make a profit on extended warranties. But really, it's a very simple machine. And the more complex a machine is, the greater likelihood of unexpected failures."

She gestured to herself. "A rather more complex machine. All the parts are custom made. There's no database on failure rates. I don't doubt I was built to rigid specs, but what sort of specs were they? NASA builds its machines for longevity under predictable conditions. If I'd been built by them, I'd still be folding sheets come the next Ice Age, as long as I was never exposed to something unplanned-for. Considering what IO had in mind for me, though, I was probably built to milspec, for durability under adverse conditions rather than longevity. An Abrams tank can do amazing things on the battlefield, but only governments can afford to maintain one. They're usually followed into battle by a semi full of parts and tools."

"Well… can't you make spare parts?"

The little android shook her head as she emptied the dryer's lint trap. "I don't know how I was built. I don't carry a set of plans in my head. And I'm sure I couldn't duplicate the research team's work. I'm smart, but not _that_ smart. And besides, even if a set of plans fell into my lap, I know I'm the result of proscribed technology, and full of exotic materials." She raised her forearm and stared at it. "The barrel of a twenty-millimeter cannon usually weighs something like forty pounds. Mine weighs less than ten. Creator knows what it's made of. The government monitors the sale and purchase of such advanced materials very closely. Buying a quantity of some weird alloy would leave a trail we can't cover; we might as well be trying to buy plutonium." She put a softener sheet into the dryer and shut the door. "Shoot, we don't even understand how my power source works. I just add water, and it produces power. But something must be turning the aitch-two-oh into electricity, and when that wears out or runs out-" She stopped, and her eyes went glassy as her head fell on her shoulder.

"Anna! Stop it."

Anna raised her head. "Probably won't happen like that. They wouldn't have wanted to risk me switching off behind enemy lines. But sooner or later, I'm going to start having failures. Maybe I'll lose the use of a foot or hand, or I'll go blind or start forgetting things." She gestured at herself again. "Eventually, this is going to turn to junk, and there's just no telling how soon it'll happen."

"That's horrible. There must be a way to keep it from happening. You're not a washing machine."

Anna said thoughtfully, "Hon, there's one more thing to look at down here."

"The door with the keypad."

"Yes." She turned towards the other end of the big room. "Let's go see what's behind it."

Caitlin stood behind her at the panel. "Oh-two, oh-four, two thousand four?"

Anna nodded. "The only combination." She opened the door and took a single step inside. Caitlin stood in the doorway and looked over her companion's shoulder.

"I thought I knew all about computers," she said wonderingly, "but I've never seen one like _this_. What _is_ it?"

Anna stared distantly at the racked components and interconnecting cables surrounding a workstation with a keyboard and monitor, almost as if she were looking through it at something else. Softly, she said, "It's me, sort of. The closest approximation he could make of my processor, using off-the-shelf components and a lot of guesswork. Some of the assembly is custom work. I download my memory into it at regular intervals, more often now that we're under the same roof. The theory is that, if something really bad happens to me, there'll be a copy of me in storage with just a small slice of memory missing. Whether the copy is me is another question. Sarah would tell you it doesn't matter, since I don't have a soul. And it's not likely I'll be all there, if you know what I mean. But it's the very best he could do."

She stepped forward and touched one of the suitcase-sized modules. "It wasn't cheap, even for Jack. And he took an awful chance having it assembled. And whenever I look at it, I want to pull the plug on it and smash it."

"God. _Why?_"

"Creator's sake. _Look_ at it. It would barely fit in a pickup truck. To move it into the next room would take an hour, shutting it down and disconnecting it and carting it through the door in pieces. Look what it's got for input: a camera, a microphone, and a keyboard." Her eyes half closed. "I wake up in there, and I'll never smell a flower or see another sunrise or feel the wind in my hair. I'll never make love to Jack again." She jerked a chin towards it as Caitlin's hand came softly down on her shoulder. "That isn't immortality. It's a prison. Another dark little box. Only this time it will be forever, or until you get tired of it and pull the plug."

"_Anna_. No one would do that."

"Of course you would. Bios are all about change. It's part of what makes you special. How long do you really think you'd keep coming down here trying to converse with what's left of me by keyboard? I'd just be a fancy photo album, a reminder of someone you used to know and care about. Healthy people don't visit graves every day. Stop that," she said, as the girl leaked a tear behind her. She reached up to pat the hand on her shoulder. "Your nose is going to plug up."

"We can do better than this. We've got to. Make it smaller, put it on wheels…"

"Like the last Sanagachi Prize winner? That marvel of AI technology? Hon, without IO tech, this is the best anybody can do. And, so what? Everybody dies. When Jack met me, I had a week to live, and I was almost looking forward to having it over with. I've lived more in the past two years than I did all the time before. They've been heaven. If I switched off thirty seconds from now, I'd die happy and fulfilled." She laced her fingers into the ones on her shoulder. "But if I had to give up love, it wouldn't matter if I outlive the Sun."


	3. Burning Bridges

Sarah prepared to go out for the evening, her thoughts uncharacteristically confused. _My real father. How long has she known, and when was she going to tell me? I've suspected since I was a child, but…_

"_She's not ready to hear something like that from me. She wouldn't believe me. She'd think I was trying to hurt her."_

She was sure Caitlin had believed Anna's answer to her question. She thought of Caitlin's changed attitude towards her, and felt a pang of loss._ Has my stock really fallen so far with her, or was she telling the little robot what she wanted to hear? Maybe my stock has fallen that far with everyone; they're completely under her spell now._ She'd never been so humiliated in her life as when she hadn't gone down to dinner, and the only one who'd tapped on her door had been Anna. _"I love her. But I know what she thinks my love is worth." Caitlin must have been sniffing them back after that performance. I'm sure I couldn't have faced her across a dinner table._

_But then, why not, if you're right?_

_The little machine stuck up for me, defended me to Caitlin. What's she playing at?_

_If anyone else had come to my door, I'd have come down. But I wouldn't do it for her. How can it be that no one else cared enough? Instead, they gave her another chance to put on a little act, impressing the others with her compassion. How did she learn to be so devious?_

_I'm going to confront her before I leave tonight. She can tell me what she thinks she knows about my real father then. Having somewhere else to go will keep it from dragging out, and give me a chance to digest what she tells me before I make a decision about it._

She surveyed her image in the armoire's mirror. The tight shorts and middy top seemed a bit risqué for a worker in a soup kitchen, but she had a date afterwards and didn't want to carry a change of clothes. She fastened the top button, almost hiding her cleavage but emphasizing the swell of her breasts, and left her room, making a mental note to undo it after her shift.

Bobby's door across the hall was open; she heard him strumming softly, the way he did when he was in deep thought. Despite the present strain between them, or perhaps because of it, she decided to check in on him before she went looking for their robot housekeeper.

He was reclined on his bed with his back propped on pillows and his head against the headboard. She stepped into his room. "Where's Anna?"

He kept his head down, stroking the strings. "Why do you want to know?"

She was taken back, unused to such a lack of accommodation from him. "I wanted to talk to her before I leave." When this failed to elicit a response, she added, "I think she has something she wants to tell me."

"Too late. She just left. She's taking that little car back to the rental place." He didn't even look up. Normally, in an outfit like this, she'd expect him to look at her as if he were planning to draw a picture.

"Oh." She shifted plans. "Fine then. It can wait, I suppose." She hoisted her bag on her shoulder. "I'll just leave then."

"Kay." He never stopped playing with the guitar strings. It was getting annoying.

"Aren't you going to ask where I'm going?" She hoped that didn't sound as plaintive as it did in her own ears. She often went out without telling anyone where she was going, and had made it clear her destination was no one else's business. _But if you only ask, just this once, I'll tell you._

He turned a key to loosen a string, _still_ not looking at her. "Clyde Street Mission. The soup kitchen."

She felt heat come into her cheeks. "How did you know that?"

"Last Sunday of the month. It's where you always go." He plucked the string, listening. "Rox followed you once. Then she told Eddie, after she made him promise to keep it a secret. Half an hour later, Kat and I both knew. I think Anna knew already, but she never told, not even my dad. Guess she respected your privacy." He played a short bridge. "That kitchen work is just the sort of thing I'd have expected from you anyway. Just stand there, hold your breath, and dump it in their trays as they pass by. You don't even have to look them in the eye. You can congratulate yourself on your compassion without ever treating them like real people." His eyes never left his instrument. "Ever hear the expression, 'charity begins at home'?"

Her vision darkened and her focus shrank to a tunnel whose other end was Bobby's face. _How dare you. Just because I won't open my arms to that imitation of life and slobber over it the way the rest of you do._ It was the first time Bobby had so deliberately insulted her, and the outrage almost overwhelmed her.

So it came as a surprise, to hear how even her voice sounded. "You could be right, Bobby. Maybe I should look at things a little differently. Maybe charity _should _begin at home."

She let her bag drop to the floor as she stepped to the bed. He finally looked at her then, his eyes widening, as she put her knee on the foot of the bed and crawled slowly up the mattress towards him. Some small interior voice was already calling _stop_, but it was weak and easily ignored. She pulled the guitar from his unresisting fingers and set it beside him. She brushed his crotch gently with her knee and leaned over him until her hair swept over his chest and lay on his shoulders. She felt his body heat, warming as a campfire. She heard, _felt _his breathing change as she brought her face low. "So tell me, Bobby. What sort of charity would you like from me?" She smiled as her words sank in and his expression changed. "I don't know why I never gave in all those times before. After all, you want it so badly, and it would cost me so little."

His arm moved, and for a second she thought she'd overplayed and he was reaching for her. But he pulled the guitar back between them, and the longing disappeared from his face. "Go ladle your soup, Sarah. You're gonna be late."

She slid off the bed. "You're right. I suppose there's not enough time. Not even for a boy." She picked up her bag. "Later, perhaps? Not tonight, I'll be home late. I've got a date."

"Just go away." But he was looking at her, and he wasn't playing with his guitar.

She was in the hallway before she started shaking. The voice that had been so insignificant before was now filling her ears. _Idiot. What have you done? You've taken his heart and spit on it and kicked it into the dust. Was his little jab really enough to rate that kind of response? What has he ever done to anyone to deserve such cruelty?_

_And if he'd been a different man, a lesser man? What if he'd reached for you, Sarah?_

She avoided the hall mirror as she walked to the back door. She stepped through into the garden and stopped, her impetus gone.

_What do I do now?_

The idea of coming back here tonight, acting like nothing had happened, was impossible. She thought about going back to apologize, but how could she even begin? And how could he possibly forgive her? _Things can't ever be the same for me here. This was the proverbial last straw. When the others find out, even Mr. Lynch won't speak to me._

_I'm not going to the kitchen tonight. I've got a little money. My thumb and a bus ticket are all I need to get me back to the rez; I'd be there by tomorrow night, no later. I've camped since I was a child. The reservation has mountains, woods, streams – I'll be harder to find there than here, and a lot more welcome. I won't even tell my family I'm back, to keep them safe. But at least I'll be home._

Again, the small voice disagreed. _You can't hide in the wilderness. Trees won't shield you from spysats. If IO gets even a hint that you're not with the others anymore, they'll search the rez for you. And do you really believe you can be that close to your family and not make contact? Does IO?_

Despair rose up to choke her. _I've got nowhere to go._

One of the garage doors went up, rising silently as a hand. The little red sports car rolled out of the bay a few feet and stopped at the end of the walk. Anna gave her the tiniest of smiles. "Need a lift?"

_She knows somehow. She's here to escort me to the city limits, her final triumph over me._ The thought didn't bring the rush of anger it should have, just a feeling of resignation.

Anna looked up at her and said in a low voice, "Come on, Sarah. I already have an errand that way, I like to drive, and you're not going to get there on time if you don't. It's farther away than it used to be. To paraphrase Freud, sometimes a ride is just a ride. We don't even have to talk if you'd rather not."

_She doesn't know. What does she want, then?_ She found herself opening the door and dropping into the low seat. _Perhaps we're going to have a talk after all._


End file.
